


We Talk Too Much

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Experiencing Human Things, Castiel's POV, Dialogue Heavy, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, If You Couldn't Tell By The Title :P, Inspired by Music, M/M, Plot Twists, Requited Love, Sam Is So Done, Sam is the Voice of Reason, Sam's POV, Spoilers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, s12 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean’s eyebrows scrunch a little more, like a biologist adjusting the focus on his microscope. Unfortunately, Sam’s the sheet of glass beneath the subject when it comes to Dean. And it’s not just a one-time study with Dean, either. He’ll keep the same subject under his blinding light until he draws up a whole report, and again when the same subject is inconclusive.He only needs a few more hours. He’s kept secrets from Dean for months.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Years Eve Eve! I wanted to tell ya'll lovely people now, because this is most likely the last fic of 2016 I'll write, granted the New Year is coming up shortly. Thank you, each and every one of you - the casual reader to my regulars - for sticking by me through this journey! I started on ao3 almost two years ago, and I have loved every moment, every comment, every kudos, and every fic. Thank you for the smiles and inspiration, and I hope I've provided you with the same. <3
> 
> 2017! Can't wait to see what ideas I scheme up. :D
> 
> (Song and title inspired by Coin's "Talk Too Much" - a song I've recently discovered that is ahhhmazing)

 

“What time is it?”

“You’re a million years old, Cas. Why are you so concerned about time now? Got a hot date or something?”

“A _billion_ years old.”

“A _billion_ years old.” Dean rolls his eyes, opening the driver door to the Impala. He looks at Cas over the hood of the car as he plops his bloodstained forearms there. Sam refrains from cracking a black-white-and-red-all-over joke just to tick him off even more. “Don’t you have some kind of internal clock built in?”

Cas gives Dean that look—jaw set, head bowed, blue eyes like the night sky cutting through the day— that reminds him that he can smite him where he stands. “We’re angels, not pocket watches.”

“Dean, just give him the time,” Sam sighs.

“ _You_ give him the time.”

“I’m not the one with the wristwatch.”

“You have a cell phone.”

“That’s _broken_ , thanks to you.”

“No, thanks to the _Rougarou_. You’re welcome for saving your life.” Dean swivels his head back to Cas, who, for someone who claims doesn’t break a sweat, looks uneasy. “You didn’t answer my question, Cas.”

“We’ll be fine, Cas,” Sam says close enough for Cas to hear as he slaps Cas’s shoulder lightly.

Cas casts Dean one last look, and opens his own door to slink into the back.

Dean’s eyebrows sink. “What was that?”

Sam’s hand curls around the frame of the passenger door as he bites on his jaw. “What?”

“That,” Dean says, using his finger to gesture in a little circle much like the one they’re going in now, “you just gave him a little reinforcement pat.”

Sam scoffs, “Since when are you the expert on body language?”

“Um, since our whole _job_ revolves around lying,” Dean guffaws.

“Dean, don’t get your bowlegs in a bind. It was nothing.”

Dean’s eyebrows scrunch a little more, like a biologist adjusting the focus on his microscope. Unfortunately, Sam’s the sheet of glass beneath the subject when it comes to Dean. And it’s not just a one-time study with Dean, either. He’ll keep the same subject under his blinding light until he draws up a whole report, and again when the same subject is inconclusive.

He only needs a few more hours. He’s kept secrets from Dean for _months._

“Whatever, I’m too tired to argue,” Dean settles, though from the tone of his voice, he’s far from tired.

**

“I told him not to tell you because I know you, Dean. I knew you’d flip out!”

“Who said I’m flipping out?”

“Dean, you look like an angry zit!”

“Well, that’s flattering,” Dean mumbles.

Sam pinches his eyes and tries to recount how they got here, in the library, yelling at each other in their pajamas, which, for Sam, consists of flannel bottoms and a thin grey t-shirt, and Dean an open, trenchcoat-inspired dead guy robe that’s older than the average lifespan of most hunters barely concealing a dark blue top and matching boxer-briefs.

Oh yeah, because Sam told Cas to leave by _exactly_ 6:59pm, because Dean comes into the kitchen to grab a snack at seven. Clockwork. Or so Sam thought, because tonight Dean decided to come in one minute early—enough time to catch Cas closing the door.

And Sam, studious student of the supernatural he is, still had his laptop open and running in the war room.

“You always flip out when Cas goes off on his own!” Sam exclaims. “Just the other day, you gave him a 20 question interrogation when he said he was gonna be back in 15.”

“Fifteen minutes is a long time to just up and leave!”

“He was picking up pizza!”

“You flip out too! Like when he was gonna go hunt down Lucifer on his own,” Dean offers.

Sam’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Yeah, that was friggin’ _Lucifer.”_

“Whatever, I don’t have to sit here and hear this,” Dean spits, turning around abruptly as his adopted robe swings around and covers his knees like Batman’s cape. Ironic, because Dean’s acting anything like a hero. “If the guy wants to go on a date, so be it. He’ll have something to pencil in his diary tomorrow morning.”

“You mean _you_ will.”

 _That_ elicits a response out of Dean. He turns back around, though much more slowly this time, putting all the emphasis on his face judging by the way his jaw squares and his eyes crease. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam huffs a weak laugh, “Forget it.”

“No” Dean says, taking a step forward like a cocky cowboy during a showdown. “Tell me what you mean. No point in keeping secrets now that you’ve buddied up with Cas behind my back—it’s not the first time, either.”

“Wait, are you jealous?” Sam fights back, getting in his face.

Dean grinds his jaw.

Sam scoffs, “You _are._ ”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” says Sam, finger like a nail gun as it twists into Dean’s chest. But Dean doesn’t move. Because they both know the real pain doesn’t come from Sam’s hand, or the bite of his words, but the real pain: within him. “And that, right there, is _exactly_ why you’d ruin everything for him—”

“Why, because I’d open my fat trap?” Dean snaps. “Huh? Is that it?”

“Because you wouldn’t,” Sam says in a voice barely above a whisper. “Dean, he’s anxious enough about this date because he’s not sure how you’d feel about it. And clearly, his anxiety is understandable.”

“Because you’re _making_ me angry!” Dean yells. “Cas is my best friend, I just want what’s best for him!”

“So do I.”

“Then why the hell is he anxious?”

“He loves _you,_ you idiot!” Sam bellows, and he’s glad they don’t have neighbors for miles around, because now Sam’s really ticked: “Not some girl he met on a milk run, _you!”_

Dean doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even flinch.

“Dean,” Sam sighs, “he can’t keep waiting. That’s why he said yes to a date with this chick. He can’t keep waiting for you to sweep him off his feet.”

“Why does he pretend like everything’s Hunky Dory when he’s so goddamn miserable then?!” Dean furies.

“He learns from the best,” Sam says.

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, well, why doesn’t he just tell me?”

“He’s _been_ telling you, Dean!” Sam contends with a laugh that’s nothing more than an exhale of pent-up frustration. “He rebelled against Heaven. He gave up his army. He’s ventured into God’s armpit and ass for _you,_ Dean—to save _you!_ Do you know anyone else who’s done that for you? Do you know anyone else who would give up _everything_ just to hear you fart and listen to all your stupid friggin’ complaints!?”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, then he ducks his head and takes a deep, shuttering breath: “Oh my God,” he grovels. “He’s… he…”

“Loves you back?” Sam offers.

Dean looks up with the slightest inch of his eyes.

“Believe me, you may think you’re the silent brooding-type, but your pining is like a siren call.” Sam smiles before lifting a finger. “Now, you have two options: You can either profess your love in front of his possible future girlfriend in front of a restaurant full of people, or you can call him before he reaches Olathe.”

*

Cold air blasts Cas as the door to the Bunker opens, like the earth breathing a heavy sigh.  The sky’s dark and time is ever ticking, but, well, Dean is right, he thinks a smile shines just as bright as the stars above him:

Time has never really mattered much to him, anyway.

“Cas?"

"Dean."

Dean takes a step forward, glancing around the driveway and back at Cas. The way his hand keeps returning to his face—a sign of self-comfort: He’s nervous. Dean’s never nervous. Not when he’s on a hunt, or tracking down the latest, biggest bad, or sacrificing himself for the greater good. "Why're you still here, man?"

Cas mimics Dean’s step forward. "I needed a reason to stay."

Dean huffs a small laugh, which the cold envelops in white mist, "Did Sam put you up to this?"

"It was a mutual effort,” Cas replies.

"What about your date?” Dean asks. Another step forward. “Was it real?"

"Oh, very. It's just not it'll next week.” Cas pauses. “Or, _was_.”

"Was?"

"Until you asked me on one."

Dean freezes. "I-I didn't ask you on a date.”

"Do you want to?"

Dean swallows his inhibitions as braces one more step forward. This isn’t unusual, the proximity, but the limited air between them has never felt more like the enemy—instead of the ally. "More than anything,” he states, more reassured.

"Well, go on,” Cas encourages, smile returning to his face once more.

Dean blushes and allows for one too. “Right. Okay, um, Cas… it would be an honor if you-if I—screw it.”

Cas has no biological reason to breathe, but Dean gives him one as he surges forward, leaving no room for enemy fire as his hands fly to Cas’s face and he casts their lips together. Dean’s hands are warm, despite the cold, and his mouth gentle in a way Cas has never known—not in Heaven, and not on Earth. He tastes like beer and burgers: humanity at its finest.

“The answer is yes, by the way,” Cas says, grinning, as they pull back in tandem.

The smile Dean gives him in return is worth every rebellion from here to Heaven before Cas kisses him again.

 

 _“You know I talk too much._  
Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up.  
We could blame it all on human nature.  
Stay cool, it's just a kiss,  
Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?  
I talk too much, we talk too much.”

~Coin, “Talk Too Much”


End file.
